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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343285">Words Better Left Unsaid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh'>Ammeh</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Arranged Marriage, Byleth lowkey scaring off suitors, F/M, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Self Confidence Issues, Social Reproductive Pressures</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:56:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstances got in the way of Dimitri's planned proposal to Byleth.</p>
<p>He doubts it was a good idea in the first place.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dimileth Hot Flash</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Words Better Left Unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote a T-rated fic for Fire Emblem! I'm surprised too. </p>
<p>This is for Dimileth Hot Flash, a flashfic event with a 3-day creation period and a 1.5k wordcount limit, and that's apparently the constraints I needed to: 1) not work in a sex scene 2) not convince myself that I'd need a longfic to deal with a proposal arc.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re the last living member of the Blaiddyd bloodline,” his advisor says, as if Dimitri isn’t constantly, painfully aware of that fact. “You’ll need to produce an heir quickly to set the people’s minds at ease.”</p>
<p>There’s little room for argument. The former lords of Leicester are likely to chafe under less independent rule. There’s even more risk of someone drumming up support for an insurrection in the former Empire. As the ruler of this new united Fódlan, he needs to project an image of strength—and stability.</p>
<p>Unconsciously, his mind goes to the ring shoved in a pouch in his pocket. It was a silly impulse—and he’s lucky that an emergency called the professor away before he could act on it.</p>
<p>The church is in just as much chaos as the new Kingdom. She has no training for the role of Archbishop, has barely known the church <em> existed </em> for a year of her memory. Dimitri has no doubt she’ll flourish and rise to the challenge—has seen her thrive in new roles firsthand—but he can’t ask her to become a queen alongside that. It wouldn’t be fair to her to place more burdens on her shoulders. Wouldn’t be fair to his people if their leadership suffers from trying to juggle dual responsibilities. And...to have the pressure to quickly bear a royal heir on top of it all?</p>
<p>He knows, to the core of his being, that his happiness isn’t worth that.</p>
<p>So he looks over the lists of candidates that his advisors bring to him, is gracious to every eligible daughter that lords keep finding excuses to bring along to Fhirdiad.</p>
<p>Yet the thought of selecting a bride from the lot feels like...trying to fill his plate at a feast. A wealth of wonderful choices to any onlooker, and every one unappealing and tasteless to his palate. </p>
<p>
  <em> This one lauded for her eloquence and political acumen. Another gave secret aid to Duscur refugees over the war, Dedue tells him. This one would solidify ties with the remnants of the fractured Alliance, this one with the Empire.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> None of them stir his heart. </em>
</p>
<p>“What do you think?” he asks Dedue one evening, poring over his advisor’s list of recommendations for the dozenth time as though he’ll spot some delightful future he’d overlooked.</p>
<p>“I think you should do what makes you happy,” Dedue says, tone careful.</p>
<p>All of his friends talk to him like that, lately.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>“She’s doing well,” Sylvain says. “Fending off suitors, but isn’t that all of us, these days?”</p>
<p>Something must show on his face.</p>
<p>“Sorry.” Sylvain grimaces. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that. Do you want to talk about it? I still can’t believe she turned you down.”</p>
<p>Right. Sylvain saw him buy the ring.</p>
<p>“I didn’t ask.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t...<em> why? </em>”</p>
<p>
  <em> Because I don’t deserve her. Because I can’t bear to ask her to take on even more burdens for my sake. Because I’d rather pretend she might have said yes than know she would have said no. </em>
</p>
<p>“It was...merely a passing fancy,” he says slowly. “I should consider this decision with more seriousness. Think about the country’s needs rather than my own.” </p>
<p>Sylvain shakes his head. “Look, I get it, but...she’s not even a bad choice. Controversial, but not <em> bad</em>.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you’d put so much thought into my marriage prospects, Sylvain,” he says with biting cheer. “Can I assume this means you have your own already sorted out?”</p>
<p>It’s a bit cruel, but at least Sylvain drops the subject.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“You’re a fool,” Felix says, and keeps walking.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>The looks Ingrid gives him are the worst ones. He encouraged her dream and now refuses to chase after his. (<em>No, he is—he’s chasing the important dreams, the ones that achieve something greater than himself.</em>)</p>
<p>“Didn’t you tell me it was possible to pursue happiness without forsaking duty?” she chides. “I heard the Archbishop invited your court to winter at Garreg Mach, before the weather closes the roads to Fhirdiad. Perhaps you should take her up on it.”</p>
<p>“It would make more sense to winter in Enbarr,” he says. “Or Derdriu.” Several of his advisors have been getting into prolonged debates on this very topic.</p>
<p>“I see,” Ingrid says. “Well then, perhaps Lady Byleth would be interested in re-establishing the church’s foothold in the former Empire, or strengthening ties with the leaders of the Eastern church. I’ll have to write her and ask.”</p>
<p>They winter at Garreg Mach.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>It’s a few days before they get a chance to properly catch up, but it’s almost like old times—tea in the professor’s quarters. Except her quarters have gotten more spacious.</p>
<p>She’s just finished telling him about the recent visitors to the monastery. And how many have been interested in her, in particular.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised to hear you’ve been getting proposals, Professor. Archbishops don’t traditionally marry.”</p>
<p>Byleth wrinkles her nose, ever so slightly, and his heart wrenches unfairly at how charming it is. “Seteth tells me I’m seen as...politically malleable,” she says. “A leg up as everyone fights for their place in the new power structure.”</p>
<p>The idea of someone just—<em>using her hand for political gain </em>...it has his fingers tightening dangerously on his thigh. At least she’s under no particular pressure to accept, that he’s aware of.</p>
<p>Head full of the painful image of her wedding someone else, he opens his mouth. </p>
<p>“Speaking of marriage...I was hoping for your advice, Professor. I need to take a queen soon, and I’ve been having trouble selecting a candidate.” </p>
<p>He doesn’t know why he’s asking. Does he want to hurt? Is he hoping she’ll hear the question he never asked and say yes?</p>
<p>“Oh,” she says, tone flat as he’s heard it since 1181. “What’s the trouble?”</p>
<p>Her mouth is tight. Or is he just imagining things? </p>
<p>He launches into the list of his advisors’ top candidates, and their qualifications, and confides the ridiculous reasons his gut finds each option disagreeable. <em> Wears her hair too elaborately coiffed, he keeps staring at it in fascination while they speak. So waif-thin he has nightmares of snapping her like a twig. Doesn’t eat like she enjoys the food, no matter what’s before her </em> (though he doesn’t confess that watching others is the only small pleasure he gets out of mealtimes)<em>. Holds a weapon like it’s a lead weight in her hand and would never enjoy sparring with him. Too chatty. Too proper and demure. </em></p>
<p>By the end of his lighthearted descriptions, Byleth’s face has loosened with amusement, and Dimitri has realized that his primary objection to every one of these women is that they’re not more like Byleth. </p>
<p>“Those do sound like issues,” Byleth says evenly. “Maybe you should keep looking.”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>He should have expected that the battle for his hand would follow him to Garreg Mach.</p>
<p>And unfortunately, the first candidate to find an excuse to visit is the only one who, he’d confessed to Byleth, he finds genuinely unpleasant. </p>
<p>Still, until he actually picks someone, he can’t turn her down without risking her family’s support. So he’s accepted her invitation for a stroll around the grounds, mentally evaluating the shortest possible route he can take without offending her. </p>
<p>Before they’ve even made it a quarter of the way, though, Byleth hurries up at a brisk jog. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she tells his companion, taking his arm in both hands. “I need to borrow Dimitri. Something important came up.” </p>
<p>She tugs at his elbow, pulling his arm against her front. He can feel the blood rushing to his face and...elsewhere as her breasts squish up against him.</p>
<p>“My apologies, Lady Erina. It seems something urgent has come up.”</p>
<p>Her eyes flit from where Byleth is holding his arm, to the front of his trousers. “Has it,” she says flatly.</p>
<p>Oh Goddess, she noticed. “Yes,” he says, with composure he doesn’t feel. “Please excuse us.”</p>
<p>Byleth leads him to one of the private meeting rooms Garreg Mach is dotted with, and shuts the door behind them.</p>
<p>“What happened?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” she says. “Figured you could use a rescue.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” He laughs in delighted surprise. “Thank you. Though I fear I won’t be able to escape for long. Not until I announce a choice.”</p>
<p>“Pity we can’t just marry each other,” Byleth says. “Get them all off our backs.”</p>
<p>His heart jumps painfully at the joke. He knows it was merely a jest, but it hurts. Perhaps this is his comeuppance for that time at the ball when he tried to play off—</p>
<p>...The comment he never would have made if he didn’t have feelings for her.</p>
<p>He’s such a damned fool.</p>
<p>And this is terrible, awkward timing, but he’s not going to give himself another opportunity to talk himself out of this.</p>
<p>“Well,” he says, touching the tiny pouch that he still keeps in his pocket, “actually…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The little bit where Byleth scares off one of Dimitri's suitors was 100% inspired by <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/snl_v/status/1349014409780277249">this fanart.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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